


Scales of Temptation

by SalamanderArt (SalamanderInk), Sparcina



Series: How Frostiron Could Have Started [26]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ... also mutual pining, Anal Sex, Art, Asgardian Tony Stark, Did I say reckless Tony?, Elder Prince Thor, Horns kink, Humor and sexual tension, Kissing, Loki threatens Tony like he breathes, M/M, Mage in training Tony, Mind Travel, Naga Loki, Oral Sex, Possessive Loki, Prince Tony - Freeform, Reckless Tony, Rimming, Royal brothers, Sorcerer Loki, TWO drawings, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tony has a Loki kink, Typical Banter, fanfic with art, fang kink, mutual fascination, poison kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 11:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18659467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalamanderInk/pseuds/SalamanderArt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: Anthony Friggason is a prince of Asgard, but foremost a mage never quite satisfied with the status quo. Reckless by nature and equally curious, he seeks out a dangerous Naga in a risky venture to improve his craft. But will he succeed in convincing the sorcerer that he is worth his while, or will he be killed at the hands of the terrible creature that even the Allfather fears?





	Scales of Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> Story by Sparcina  
> Art by SalamanderInk (also found on [tumblr](https://salamanderink.tumblr.com/image/184551766345))  
> Beta'd by Succubus Kayko
> 
> What a fun ride (We're pretty sure Tony agrees)!

Curiosity may have killed many a bilgesnipe over the millennia, but Anthony Stark had never been particularly afraid of anything, not even death. Many Asgardians frowned upon such recklessness, as Anthony was no warrior, a ‘mere’ mage in training, but then rare also were those so clever as to walk headfirst into danger and engage in conversation with beings who wielded unfathomable power about the origins of magic and the universe.

Perhaps Anthony was lucky, on top of being a little too curious. It certainly was a mixture of luck and curiosity that had sent him on this new quest. His plan was simple and allowed plenty of improvisation, like most of his successful plans were: find the Naga who haunted the Dark Forest (which he’d been expressly forbidden to visit by the Allfather, but laws were for lackeys and context was for kings, or in that case, a prince doubling as a mage in training seeking to improve his craft), and convince him to become his tutor or, at the very least, impart some of his formidable knowledge to him.

In a nutshell: titillate the most interesting and dangerous being around because life as a prince _bored_ him.

He’d been exploring the outskirts of the Dark Forest for a few hours when the sun began its descent below the horizon. Never one to fear the dark or anything it harbored (Hel had taught him the value of darkness), Anthony brought the golden whistle to his lips and blew sharply into it. He’d forged the tool back when he’d apprenticed under his mother Frigga and prided himself in the fact that his familiar, and only him, would hear the call and reply to it.

A few moments later, a great bird of the darkest emerald landed on his right wrist, claws carefully arranged over the leather vambrace designed for it.

“Jarvis.” Anthony grinned in delight and sleeked back the few wayward feathers on top of the bird’s head. He didn’t technically need the whistle to mind-travel, but he liked to think he was respectful of his partners. “Will you grant me sight for a time, pal?”

Jarvis hooted his approbation and took off again, Anthony’s mind along for the ride.

Anthony grinned. Shedding his Asgardian flesh to enjoy another perspective, and a wider one at that, always filled him with exhilaration. For once, though, Anthony wasn’t honing his skills or showing off; he was actively surveying the forest for some hint of the Naga who may or not may not change his life for the better.

For a while, he surfed the wind currents, consciousness and will split evenly between two bodies. He felt… content, because Jarvis _was_ content. For all his reputation as a cocky, disrespectful second heir to the throne, he was fiercely gentle to those who deserved it, and unwilling to end life when another option was available. His mother approved of this trait of character that her elder, Thor, hadn’t inherited. Healer Potts also did… when she wasn’t busy shouting herself hoarse because Anthony had risked his neck _again_.

Anthony was still looking for the Naga’s magical signature when night took over. Deciding that he’d put enough strain on his familiar’s body, he reassembled his mind within Asgardian flesh and walked deeper into the woods with a final wave for Jarvis.

Trees quickly became bigger, bushes thicker, the space between all those green sentinels narrow and filled with prickling plants that could draw blood from heedless passersby, but Anthony had cast a shield around himself to block out most aggressive plants and small animals, even those of the magical variety.

Of course, it wouldn’t hold if the Naga decided his visitor wasn’t welcome.

Anthony shivered as a magical vibe began trickling through his shield. It felt… musky, potent, and unlike anything he’d ever sensed in any of the realms he’d visited. Focusing on it, he started to pick up subtler notes.

Danger.

Cold.

Blood.

Basically, the magic blend he expected from the Dark Forest and its infamous Naga resident. He slowed his pace and enhanced his own magical signature with care, telegraphing his intent with it. He also lowered his shield the slightest bit in a clear message of trust. He knew from the Warriors Three’s drunken stories that many a hunter had attempted to gain the Allfather’s favor by bringing him the head of Asgard’s most fearsome creature, but as far as he was concerned, that head was much more interesting on the shoulders of the Naga-

It was a testament to Anthony’s skills as a mage that he sensed the Naga’s presence even though his focus was wavering between past and present.

The magic radiating off of the Naga was raw and so _rich_ Anthony almost felt drunk for a moment, and not on that disgusting mead on which his brother liked to get plastered. He could taste that magic on his tongue, the dark nuances of it a heady cocktail of water and fire, danger and cold storms that left him reeling, heart hammering like a trapped animal.

“Hello,” he called out, using the diplomat’s voice his father claimed he didn’t have. “I’m Anthony, and I’m looking for t-”

The rest of his speech never made it past his lips; an imposing reptilian tail whipped out of the darkness and wrapped itself around his body with unnerving fluidity. A squeal of surprise almost escaped him, but Anthony bit it down, along with an equally shameful cry of pain. By the Norns, but the Naga’s tail was a force to be reckoned with. Anthony slammed a lid on something that felt suspiciously like fear and forced his body to relax even as all of his limbs collectively threatened to break under the strain. He also attempted to fix his shield.

‘Attempted’ being the operative word here. His shield hadn’t been weakened; it’d been _destroyed_ , which kind of explained the spots in his vision and the more general impression of weakness. He was struggling to breathe, too, if the wheezing sounds that filtered out of his mouth were any indication. Blood pounded in his ears, his heart threatened to burst out of his chest and for the first time in at least a couple decades, he felt completely exposed.

“Interesssting.”

 

The deep and sensual male voice stroke the night’s air like a whip. The powerful coils of the Naga’s tail shifted around Anthony’s body and relaxed just enough for the mage to feel slightly more alive than dead. After a series of coughs, he resisted the temptation to create another shield (he wasn’t even sure he could) and tried to parse the darkness enveloping him.

The darkness parted for him, and out of it came the very being Anthony had been seeking.

The Naga who haunted the Dark Forest and terrified many souls far beyond its borders. A creature rumored so powerful that even the Allfather didn't _dare_ approach the immense forest that was its domain. A master sorcerer who was known to Asgard only because it had allowed a couple of foolish wanderers to leave the Forest (partly) unscathed to tell the tale. 

Anthony didn't flinch as the Naga materialized seemingly out of nowhere, twenty feet long and a good seven feet tall in its current position, propped on the part of a muscular-looking snake-like tail that wasn’t currently busy acting like a vice. Anthony stared at endless rows of emerald-green scales that appeared simultaneously smooth and sharp, their captivating regularity interrupted only briefly by a unique ridge, black and thin, only a few inches long; the seamless, wondrous connection of man and snake at the waist, where glistening scales gave way to a hairless chest the exact color of moonlight.

Ever the aesthete, even in death’s grip, Anthony turned his gaze upwards to the strong pectorals and shoulders, only pausing briefly at pert nipples, all the way up to a beardless, slightly pointed chin, a strong jaw currently relaxed, a straight nose, cutting high cheekbones and eyes gleaming with dark amusement. Anthony couldn't make out their exact color, but they looked very dark, and the kind of eyes one could easily slip in by accident and drown. He'd been complimented in this way many times over the centuries, but had never experienced that overwhelming sensation for himself, until now.

The Naga leaned into him, its tail shifting a little around Anthony's very still body. His dark hair curled languidly at his shoulders like nests of snakes, and from that dark, velvety-looking sea rose… horns?

"Tell me, _Asgardian_ ," the mesmerizing creature hissed bare inches from Asgard's youngest prince's face, "why I find you trespassing in my home."

Anthony swallowed once. Smiled, because he was charming (Healer Potts would say 'cocky and stupid'). Also, the horns, jet black and unexpected as they were, distracted him just the slightest bit.

"I was looking for you, Master Sorcerer."

The coils had been tightening again, but the title brought the slow torture to a pause. It had always been Anthony’s reasoning that one couldn't go wrong with politeness.

"Is that so?" The Naga cocked its head to the side. There was surprisingly no extra ‘s’ this time. "And why, pray tell, would you forfeit your life so young?"

"Aren't you the most knowledgeable sorcerer in the Nine Realms?" Anthony asked in lieu of answering.

"I _am._ "

The steel edge in the Naga's voice made it clear that threats had taken a backseat to arrogance. Anthony smiled inwardly. "Good. There is only so much I can learn on my own, or under the Queen's tutelage. My mother is very-"

"Arrogant little _prince_." In the Naga's mouth, the title sounded like an insult. "You think because you inherited a title your ancestors acquired through bloodshed, you may come to me and demand I teach you my craft?!"

Anthony could barely feel his limbs from how secure the Naga's vice was around him, but he forged ahead. By the Norns, he'd always hated misunderstandings, which was why he hated it so much when his mother pleaded him to play diplomat. "I don't de… mand anything fr-from you. If anything, I’m… _ah_ , begging."

"For your miserable life?"

Anthony’s vision was darkening rapidly. He didn't reach for his magic, no matter how much his instincts urged him to defend himself. "Don't you want to a-at… least attempt to sh-shape a useful… tool out of Odin's… offspring?"

"And what use," the Naga snarled, "would that be for me?"

"Satisfaction," Anthony gasped. "Leve…rage."

"You're useless to me."

"Test… me."

Just before Anthony passed out, he _thought_ he reached for a thick curl of the Naga's long flowing hair and said something about liking the horns.

*

When the prince came to himself next, he was (unsurprisingly) bound at both wrists and ankles, and also lying supine on a very hard surface. _Rock_ , his mind registered, just before the roaring to his right acquired a label: _waterfall_.

 _The Naga’s home_ , he thought. _Well, inner home._ To be entirely honest with himself, he'd half-expected to wake up to the shouts of his father and mother in Helheim. To be flesh and blood still was eminently satisfying, not because being alive beat wandering aimlessly the bleak land of Hel (although he would never tell her that), but because it meant the Naga hadn't simply killed him off and feasted on his innards. Just as he was wondering if the comment about the horns had granted him continued existence or if it rather explained the, well, _bindings_ , the Naga emerged from the thick drape of the waterfall.

He was, for lack of a better word, resplendent. Anthony had been faced with beauty many times in his life and had thought himself immune to it.

The Naga made it impossible to look away. It was in the way darkness followed him, in the way light colored his dual nature. Anthony's eyes were drawn to the sinuous curves, the sensuality that the Naga exuded. Every shade of green he'd seen before seemed pale and almost gray when faced with the flamboyant emerald of those scales. Every white from his former life was nothing more than a hint of color when presented with the marble hue of the Naga's bare chest and forearms. And those horns nested in that rich mane of dark hair... They spiraled like contained storms, just massive enough, their color a perpetual shift in the spectrum.

"Awake and quiet," the Naga drawled, slithering closer, hands linked where scales ended and skin began. "A rare combination for you, I suspect."

Anthony sought out the fog of _wow_ currently muddling his thoughts for an appropriate reply. He came up short.

"I can always eat your tongue, if you have no more use for it."

"How am I supposed to ask for instructions, then?” Anthony finally said, a little too fast, and breathless.

The Naga crossed his arms. Anthony’s eyes traveled back and forth between those dark eyes and the horns.

"Let's see how _useful_ you can truly be."

*

The answer was: pathetically useless, although Anthony was quite certain the Naga's insults must have little venom to them, because he kept sending the prince back on another errand. Most of them were 'casually dangerous and wearying' by Anthony's standards, such as the ones involving the retrieval of artifacts that were usually already in somebody or something's possession, but a few of them bored him to tears. Anthony often wondered if those herb-gathering errands were a punishment or a reward, and after a time, he decided it didn’t matter. He was quite proud of his usefulness, no matter how Loki chose to qualify his skills.

The Naga had taught him his name and allowed him its use after Anthony had brought back a rare ingredient that was both very small but very heavy, scorching hot and definitely magical in nature. Its former owner, a hydra, hadn't wanted to part from it (what a shock), and Anthony had managed to thieve it for the price of a few broken bones his own magic had been unable to heal. It was the Naga who’d broken the curses and mended the bones, but only after telling Anthony he hadn’t expected him to come back this time either. As if the reminder that Anthony was sent time and time again to 'a certain death' would discourage him from coming back for more.

"The only thing that truly frightens me in this life is boredom, so you can turn down the charm, _Loki_."

The Naga had let him go hungry that night, but he'd given him a name.

Anthony went to sleep savoring the prized syllables.

*

Apprenticing under Loki amounted to a constant slap to the face, but Anthony was nothing if not resilient. And okay, perhaps a bit masochistic.

"Oh, stop complaining, that fire was _fine_."

Loki hissed a curse at him and doused the fire with a single spell. Anthony didn’t pout, because he was finally learning, if only how to perfect basic magic. Still, it was a definite improvement from hunting-gathering.

"It was not _fine_ , Anthony." The Naga snapped his fingers with a scowl.

Anthony's eyes were drawn to the black-tinted nails. He wondered how they would feel, scratching his back in ecstasy.

As usual, he was getting ahead of himself.

*

Fire had always been his forte, and metal working a natural talent of his. His mother had often complimented his grasp of metal wielding and visited him in his make-up forge in his quarters, admiring of the daggers and creative instruments he brought to being, linking lifeless metal and sparks of his inner core. Frigga had been the only person interested (and approving) of this 'hobby' of his.

Loki became another exception. The first time Anthony presented him with a dagger, in which he'd fitted a gem stone he'd found back in his gathering days, the sorcerer _purred_ in approval, which made Anthony’s skin tingle, but then Loki’s mere existence was a continuous source of delicious shivers.

On the second month of his apprenticeship, Loki began teaching him how to imbue metal with combative magic, a skill that had evaded Anthony for the longest time.

Anthony made more daggers. Jewelry, too, to wear as a supplement to his magical core. Hidden advantages. Secret weapons.

Loki smiled.

Anthony worked harder. Made more strange, crooked metallic artifacts that made no sense for beings that weren't mages or sorcerers. Asked Loki for advice. For approval. Made his teacher gift after gift after gift, to thank magic by magic.

Loki smiled more.

*

The fascination apparently ran both ways. It took Anthony a stupidly long time to realize that mutuality, if only because Loki went to great lengths to pretend he was ‘too busy’ or ‘terrifying’ or ‘in a mood’ (considering eating his apprentice–again). Yet once Anthony began parsing the looks Loki leveled at him when he thought his student wasn’t looking, especially when the prince was bending metal to his will at his forge in one corner of the cavern… He noticed hints of interest. Curiosity. Unwilling admiration.

How long had it been since Loki last enjoyed any form of companionship? Anthony was afraid to ask, not because he feared the Naga's wrath, but rather because he mourned the long, long solitude he already suspected was Loki's most loyal companion.

He didn't ponder too much on his growing need to fill the empty space at Loki’s side. All right, so he liked to make the sorcerer grin, to have him relax enough in his presence to speak to him without uttering threats every minute or so. And he found Loki ridiculously attractive, but he wasn't stupid enough to say anything. He didn’t think he could bear it if his daily fantasies were dashed to pieces by the certainty of one-way attraction.

*

Anthony was once again working well into the night, intent on finishing the last piece Loki had set out for him, when the Naga came up behind him and lay a hand on his shoulder. Anthony almost jumped out of his skin (Loki had never touched him in such a causal way before) and dropped a sharp tool on his foot. He was, however, too shocked to reach for it with magic, so he crouched with a grunt to retrieve it from under the desk, already missing the cool pressure of Loki's hand.

When he stood back and faced Loki, the Naga was watching him with a guarded expression. Anthony knew that mask well; Loki was testing him.

But for what purpose?

“My… appearance,” Loki said slowly. “It doesn’t repel you.”

“Repel me?” Anthony parroted in disbelief. He didn't even need to think about his answer. "You look better than I do, and that’s no small feat."

For a heartbeat, it seemed as though Loki would brain him against the closest rock available, but then he grinned, eyes shining with genuine amusement. Anthony, however, was much more interested in the one-inch wicked looking fangs that had slipped free right behind his canines.

"May I-"

The Naga batted his hand away with just a little too much force. "Are you quite sure you do not have a death wish, _prince_?"

"I'm quite sure, Loki."

He lifted a hand, reaching out for the Naga’s face. Loki froze. Anthony’s fingertips brushed the cool torso he'd dreamt of caressing ever since he'd seen Loki coming out of that waterfall, drops dripping like so many diamonds down acres of alabaster skin.

A full-body shiver ran through him as one of Loki's hands encircled his wrist. Pointy black nails bit into his skin like a promise.

"You are playing a dangerousss game."

Anthony's heart picked up pace. For some reason he couldn't explain (perhaps the increasing darkness in Loki's eyes, or the extreme stillness of his body, or-), he could have sworn that the danger applied to them both, not only himself.

Hope flared so wide and sudden in his chest that Anthony almost choked on it. "I wouldn't dare play with you."

"I would snap your neck if you did."

"I would let you." It was as much as Anthony was willing to confess, but it seemed to be enough, because Loki reached with his other hand for his throat and ran a nail down the line of it, lingering over the prince’s pulse point. If Anthony begged, would Loki bite him, eventually? God, he wanted this. For Loki and for him. He’d been surrounded by admirers all his life but had always felt other, alone in a way that much resembled Loki’s solitude very much, and he ached for-

Anthony raised himself on tiptoes and kissed the sorcerer. When the fangs retracted and Loki didn’t immediately throttle him, Anthony splayed both hands on Loki's shoulders, trying to contain the _need_ pulsing through his body. The Naga had lowered himself enough so that they were of equal height now, and Anthony used this newfound advantage to tilt his head to the side and get a better angle. His hands came and went in Loki’s black curls, and that hair truly was soft.

Loki's mouth was soft, too, made even more delicious by anticipation. His forked tongue was slick and cool, and tasted like all those herbs he'd sent Anthony out to collect. The prince moaned as the wet muscle explored his mouth, purposeful and dominating. Arousal pooled low in his belly, and he moaned as he gripped Loki’s shoulders tighter. He wanted-wanted-wanted-

The kiss ended as sweetly as it had begun. Loki’s expression was guarded once more, but there was a new softness along the edges. Cracks that fueled Anthony’s hope.

"Your fangs..."

"Go to sleep, Anthony."

*

All right, so apparently some Nagas were not just venomous, but lethally so, and injected their venom through their fangs.

If Anthony read that book he wasn't supposed to read correctly, Naga venom was not toxic between members of the same species, and mating involved quite a few bites to ‘establish a claim’. While not poisonous, those bites were supposed to hurt, which was why they were licked as part of the ritual, because a Naga's saliva could secrete endorphins when he or she was properly aroused.

Anthony was very quiet that evening and dreamt of Loki binding Asgard’s youngest prince to himself.

He woke up with a blaring pain in his neck, but it was only from an awkward sleeping position.

*

The second time they kissed, Anthony took a leap of faith, desperately hoping Loki wouldn’t laugh in his face.

"I want to mate with you."

Loki didn’t laugh.

“You want ssso many things, Anthony…”

As always when he was aroused, Loki lengthened his ‘s’ sensuously. Anthony licked his lips. He should probably feel more vulnerable, lying naked and spread eagled on the thick fur Loki had spread for him, and yet the only thing that flooded him as the Naga loomed over him, all twenty feet of scales and skin of him, was hunger. Quiet desperation. Joy that Loki had _chosen_ him and seemed intent to keep him, if Anthony proved interesting enough, worthy enough. Anthony had never been so determined to prove his worth to anyone, not even to his own father.

“What…” His throat was dry, anticipation searing fireworks playing with his insides. His heart fluttered as Loki’s tail brushed his right ankle, a teasing touch meant to tantalize him. And it worked. “What do you- What do you wish of me, Loki?”

“Give yourself to me.”

Anthony felt his cock throb. He was painfully hard, and those words, the commanding tone on the delivery, made his state of arousal all the more obvious. “You have me,” he panted. “I am yours.”

“Only today.”

“Not if you- _ah_ …”

Loki’s fangs grazed the line of his throat. Anthony gasped, arched his back as far as he could, exposing his neck further, willing Loki to bite down and claim him. He must have babbled some of it as he rutted wantonly against the tail Loki had indulgently lowered down to grant him friction, because Loki’s lips brushed his ear, the tone regretful but full of fire.

“You wouldn’t sssurvive it.”

 _Test me_ , Anthony almost said, but Loki pulled back then, and the black ridge that the prince, in a first fit of amazement, had thought a scar, proved to be much more interesting as it split in two and parted with a slick sound, giving way to a twelve-inch long emerald cock the likes of which Anthony had never seen before.

He wanted it everywhere that magic would make it fit _yesterday_.

“So wanton,” Loki purred in his neck, mouthing at his pulse point. So apparently Anthony was thinking out loud again. “So desperate to have me inside of you.”

"Oh god yes," Anthony gasped without a lick of embarrassment, his own erection almost painful by now.

Loki ran his hands down Anthony’s thighs, nails biting into the skin. No blood was drawn, but it felt like it should have. Anthony whimpered and fisted his hands in the fur.

"You do well to worssship me, Anthony.

Magic existed for a reason, so Anthony didn't protest or expect pain as Loki spread him open on his thick cock. He let the Naga bend him in half and only clung to his shoulders as to better feel him, all of him, skin and scales, snake and man, everything. He didn’t even try to reach for his own cock trapped between their bodies, because the way Loki moved inside of him was divine, and when the languorous glide of his cock became a hard pounding, he just couldn’t think anymore. It was only when he’d felt a cool wetness paint his insides that he reached completion himself, and only when Loki chuckled that Anthony realized that he was stroking the part of Loki’s tail he could reach.

“Let’s go again,” he suggested, lazily caressing all those pretty scales. “Make sure I’m full of your cum.”

Loki’s eyes shone with pure, unadulterated lust.

“I want you to be reasonably sore tomorrow, then.”

Anthony’s cock twitched in anticipation.

“Deal. I’ll even make the butt plug.”

They fucked four more times before Anthony passed out from exhaustion, Loki’s cool cum trickling from his ass. He was roused hours later by the curious sensation of a cool, smooth object being inserted in his hole by a gentle hand. It seemed like Loki was ahead of schedule.

Still sleepy, Anthony smiled and lifted one hand to caress Loki’s lips.

“One day, you will mark me like I want.”

Loki batted his hand away but wrapped himself around him, fingers lingering around the base of the plug.

The fifth time, Anthony was half-asleep, but the sixth time, he rode Loki until his legs gave out.

“Weakling,” the Naga whispered with a hint of affection.

Anthony grinned as he sought to catch his breath.

*

The first time Anthony woke up in Loki’s strong coils, he felt his heart flutter, then stop briefly, before picking up speed. The sense that he was dreaming awake shot through him like an armada of sparks, a storm of goodbutunexpected that seemed to expand the more he focused on it. A wave of dizziness overtook him.

With his chest to Anthony’s back, Loki placed a hand on the prince’s chest.

“Your heart-” His voice sounded a bit off. “Are you still afraid that I will kill you, Anthony?”

The edge in his voice and the words themselves reflected pretty well Anthony’s own impression of vulnerability. He covered Loki’s hand with one of his own and twisted his neck to rub his cheek against the Naga’s shoulder.

“No, not more than usual.”

A compromise between expanding this vulnerability and shielding himself. He was well used to giving gifts to Loki by now, but this was different, and he felt slightly naked, and not only because he didn’t have a stitch on.

He cleared his throat. “I think I’ll sleep some more.”

The Naga relaxed by increments. Anthony hoped Loki stopped worrying eventually, but he couldn’t be sure, because he fell back asleep unexpectedly fast, lulled by the coolness of the smooth, cool scales that never went sharp around him.

*

Anthony had a thing, well, a kink for Loki’s horns. They were sensitive and alive, harder than bones, but they shifted ever so slightly under Anthony’s reverent palms, and heated sometimes when the mage touched them just so. Their exact color was still puzzling, but Anthony was much more interested in drinking with his eyes, worship with his hands, the ever-changing nature of them.

“What do you like ssso much about them?” Loki prompted one day, purred, really, his ‘s’ emphasized sensuously.

Anthony was stroking those wonderful horns while he thought back on their latest magic lesson. He was hard as a rock but quite content enough with his current activity to ignore the call of his own body.

For once it sounded like Loki was genuinely curious, so Anthony answered him honestly. He was much more honest these days, and he suspected that Loki was, too.

“They’re unique. Aaaaand they’re mine,” he said proudly.

Loki wrested him to the ground, pinned him there on the hard rock and swallowed his cock whole in one toe-curling cool glide.

Anthony didn’t even let go of Loki’s horns to climax.

*

Okay, so maybe poisoning himself in secret to develop a tolerance without knowing if the dangerous substances he tried wouldn’t kill him hadn’t been one of his best ideas. Loki told him so in much less flattering terms as he nursed him back to health over the weeks. Or maybe his lover chose to let him linger at death’s doors to punish him? Anthony himself may have hurled some unsavory things to Loki’s head while he was delirious with pain and fever. The fact that Hel visited him one night to chew his head off (metaphorically) didn’t exactly improve his mood, but at least Jarvis came by once or twice, if only to lament the pitiful state of his master.

When Anthony roused one morning feeling rested and able to move without throwing up, he opened his eyes to find Loki’s already on him. Dark smudges underlined a pair of bloodshot  emeralds, and it occurred to Anthony that maybe, just maybe, the Naga had done his best to keep him alive...

… which would mean that Anthony was just plain stupid, like Healer Potts thought useful to remind him away from the Queen’s ears.

“You are not a Naga,” Loki said, weariness lacing the words.

Anthony was quick to notice that it wasn’t an insult for once. After downing a glass of a foul-tasting healing brew of some kind without a single grimace (a personal record) under Loki’s watchful eyes, he said out loud what they both already knew.

“I still want you to mark me.”

“You are still stupid.”

“I know. I-”

The next words hovered at the tip of his tongue. Words that nobody had ever told him except his mother, and that he himself had never used, because he’d never felt so strongly for anyone before.

Loki leaned into him and kissed him gently on the mouth, forked tongue flicking out briefly, perhaps to sample the first effects of the brew. Anthony made grabby hands for his lover, who allowed him the use of one hand to cuddle.

“You are very resilient and persistent, for an Asgardian.”

That definitely sounded like a compliment.

*

When Loki finally bit him, Anthony was not even expecting it anymore.

After two years of adventures and magical wonders in Loki’s company, Anthony had thought best to go back to the palace and let his parents know that he was still alive and kicking. He didn’t intent to stay more than a day or two, but after hugging him within an inch of his life, his mother had insisted that he remained for a couple more days, which turned into a week when it became clear that Thor was out being stupid on some other realm again. Also, his father tried twice to shove him into a cell ‘for his own good’, Healer Potts slapped him in the face, he got drunk on bad mead accidentally and set fire to the throne room in a final fit of rebellion against his father’s judgmental nature.

Okay, so maybe the third time the Allfather attempted to put him into shackles, it was warranted, but then he’d called Loki an animal, and no one insulted the Naga.

After hugging his mother one final time and telling her what (or rather whom) he’d truly found two years ago and what they meant for him, he made the journey back to his new home in the Dark Forest.

Loki and he had messaged back, so the Naga knew when to expect him, but he still threw himself at Anthony as soon as the prince (?) stepped into the cavern.  

“I’m happy to see you too,” Anthony grinned after a long, thorough kiss.

“Your father is an idiot and I will kill him for good.”

“Ah, you romantic.”

“Come here and lay down, I hunger for you.”

Anthony didn’t need to be told twice. Loki pressed in between his quivering thighs and lifted his ass off the ground, mouthing at his cock like he’d truly missed it. Anthony loved being manhandled by him and let himself be devoured whole. He came fairly quickly, but Loki wasn’t done; he merely set him down on their bed and folded his legs back so he could lick at his balls, and then farther back. When that wonderful forked tongue slid in his hole, Anthony gripped Loki’s horns and threw his head back.

“Oh god, so good, I missed you, fuck, fuck me please, Loki-”

The sensation of Loki entering him would never get old, and Anthony focused on the slow glide inside like it was their first time. He noticed the hand pining his shoulders to the furs, noticed how Loki’s other hand splayed on his jaw and neck. Anthony liked having his neck exposed, loved the way Loki would lick at his pulse point like he was trying to taste it through the skin.

When Loki sank his fangs in the sensitive skin, Anthony tensed suddenly.

“Yes!”

The poison hurt, but Anthony embraced that pain and let it mix with the pleasure, reshape it. Loki retracted his fangs quickly, but Anthony hardly noticed, too caught up in the fact that Loki had claimed him, was still claiming him, to remember what a cock was or what he should do with it.

He passed out briefly, and Loki slapped him back awake. He didn’t look very worried; if anything, he appeared very pleased with himself.

“I’ve done some… research on my own while you were away.”

“So that you could claim me?” Anthony prompted, and then winced, because that bite hurt something fierce.

Loki flattened his tongue over it and licked slowly. Lovingly.

“So that you could be mine in every way,” he crooned.

Anthony wrapped his arms around Loki’s shoulders and grinned. Life, boring? When had he ever been afraid of that?

“I love you, Lokes.”

“I do hate that nickname,” Loki replied lazily, but it was very clear that underneath that criticism, very different words were meant.


End file.
